


This is where drugs get you

by hatebeat



Series: Putting the gears in motion [6]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatebeat/pseuds/hatebeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Los Angeles, 1986. Pickles gets a phone call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is where drugs get you

_Los Angeles, 1986._

He'd done a few lines of what he had thought was coke with the guys after the show. Turned out it wasn't coke, and whatever it was had left him shaking and wide awake between the two girls who were passed out in bed with him. Pickles was completely unaware of what time it could possibly be, so the door to the hotel room opening up startled the crap out of him. 

"Pickles, you have a phone call." It was their manager. Fuck.

"Why's someone callin' at... whatever time it is?" Pickles muttered, starting to half sit up, but he felt like serious shit from whatever he'd snorted. 

"It's only 10:40. And it's your mother calling."

Pickles recoiled physically, fighting the urge to retch. His mother was calling him?

"What the hell is she calling me for?!"

"Well, I don't know," the manager said, sounding a bit impatient. "Do you want me to refuse the call?"

Pickles considered it, but he was already crawling over one of the girls. He wanted to get out of this fucking bed, and he kind of was curious about why his mother was calling him. Maybe she had heard about how well he was doing...?

"I'll take it," he said, stepping into his underwear. He grabbed his smokes and lighter from the nightstand and went with his manager, not bothering to put on anymore clothes. 

Pickles' stomach was in knots when he picked up the phone. He hadn't spoken to his mother since before he had left Tomahawk for good. He didn't think he had wanted to talk to her, but...

"Hello?" he said with some hesitation, leaning back against the wall. He pulled out a cigarette and fumbled with the lighter, but his hands were shaking too hard to get it lit.

"Matthew? Is that you?"

He felt the colour drain from his face. Fuck this. He hadn't been called that name in _so_ long. He'd almost forgotten that people like his family would still call him by that name.

"It's Pickles," he said as he finally managed to get the cigarette lit. 

" _Pickles_." He could practically hear his mother rolling her eyes at him through the phone, but he closed his eyes and took a nice pull on his cigarette. "I'm the one who named you, I'll call you by your name, god damn it."

"I had it legally changed," he sighed, suddenly tired of all of this. He should have refused the call, but he'd been hopeful... "So that's not my name anymore. Why are you calling, mom?" 

More importantly, maybe, was how she even figured out where to call.

"You don't talk to your own mother in years, and that's the kind of attitude you're going to have? I saw you on television, _that's_ why I'm calling."

For a minute, Pickles' heart leapt into his throat. Was this it? Was his mother finally going to acknowledge something he'd done? Was she finally going to be proud of him?

"Yeah, my band's getting pretty big," he said, as if it were no big deal. It was a big deal. It was a huge deal! They thought he was trash, that he belonged _in a garbage can_ , and he ran away and followed his dreams, and he'd fucking _made it_. His asshole family was probably eating their words now.

"Out in Los Angeles, playing _rock music?_ What do you think you're doing with your life?"

Pickles actually laughed, a completely hollow laugh, and ran his hand back through his hair, cigarette perched between two fingers as he did. He should have known. Of course he should have known. "You said the same thing when you saw me working at Dairy Queen." 

"At least _that_ was an honest job," she scoffed at him. Pickles started to wish he had more of whatever he'd put up his nose earlier; even if it made him feel like shit, he'd prefer that shitty high to this. "Where do you think this is going to get you, _Pickles_? I saw you and your band- are you on _drugs?_ You know where drugs got your brother... Prison! Is that what you want? You want to end up in prison, too?"

Pickles wanted to point out that Seth had done a hell of a lot more than just get high, but his mother wouldn't see the difference anyway. Not that he was going to defend that asshole. He never thought about Seth anymore, not at all. Out here in LA he didn't have to.

He was free.

"Mom, famous people don't go to prison," he told her, just because he knew it would piss her off. 

"You think you're above everyone else now just because you can play a guitar and have long hair? You think you're above the _law?_ You always have, you never cared what it was like for us when you showed up at the front door with the police, you ungrateful-"

"Mom," Pickles sighed. He knew all this shit! This is why he didn't live at home anymore! "Why the hell are you calling me?" he reiterated.

"Because, Matth- _Pickles_. If you've got enough time to play _rock_ music and fool around on television, then you sure as hell have enough time to call your family once in a while."

Pickles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly counting to five in his head to keep himself from blowing up. She really thought he was going to _call her_ when she talked like this to him every single _fucking_ time?

"Okay, mom. I'm gonna go, you know, get high, play some rock music, whatever. I'll make sure to call and let you know how it goes."

He dropped the phone onto the receiver heavily, but not soon enough to completely drown out her outburst. He dropped his cigarette into the ashtray and realised as he opened the door that he couldn't get back into his room.

"Dude, you got our room keys?" he asked the manager, who had silently watched the whole call unfold. 

"Yeah, I'll let you back in," the manager said, following him into the hallway. The manager stopped at his door, but Pickles kept walking. 

"Nah, dude, not going back in there." There were girls in there that he was done with, and he wasn't in the mood now. Not at all. The manager complied without complaint and unlocked Tony's door for him.

"Thanks, chief. And hey, if my mom ever calls again... yanno, don't wake me up, okay?"

He closed the door behind him quietly and went straight to Tony's bed, exchanging his lighter and smokes for the bottle from the bedside table. Didn't care what it was, Pickles was going to finish it off. Tony started to stir when he felt the mattress dip.

"Shh, s'just me. Gonna sleep here."

Tony put his head back down on the pillow and half-heartedly lifted up the sheets for Pickles to crawl in.

"'Kay," he murmured. "C'mon in, man, th'water's fine..."


End file.
